


A Non-Denominational Holiday Mission Report

by Smittywing (Smitty)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Christmas, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-24
Updated: 2005-12-24
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6706318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smitty/pseuds/Smittywing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"C'mon, McKay," Ford said with a grin.  "You're the original Scrooge."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Non-Denominational Holiday Mission Report

Ford was dead: to begin with. No matter what Colonel Sheppard thought or hoped or _felt_ , Ford was dead. Just like Grodin and Abrams and Gaul and Dumais. More than a half dozen other scientists, Marines with names Rodney never bothered to learn, and even the ten thousand year old plants Elizabeth had been trying to get rid of for over a year now.

Ten thousand year old plants which were currently in the act of being defiled by one pointy-eared, prematurely promoted Lieutenant Colonel.

"Are those Christmas ornaments?" Rodney asked.

"Sure are." Sheppard flashed him a smile and tossed him a goofy-looking reindeer made from a clothespin.

"And what do you propose I do with this?" Rodney asked without the precise level of withering disdain to which he had been aspiring -- the reindeer was slippery and awkwardly shaped and _tiny_. _No one_ would have caught it without a few false grabs.

"Hang it on the tree, McKay, what else do you do with a Christmas ornament?" It was just the same sarcastic drawl Rodney was used to hearing with Sheppard's breath in his ear and Sheppard's hand on his back.

Rodney scowled. "With your predilection for widespread holiday commercialism? The possibilities are endless."

And then, ignoring Sheppard's raised eyebrows, he stomped back to his lab, the ornament still clutched in his hand.

* * *

"Rodney."

"Elizabeth." Rodney saved his work and glanced up at her. "What's up?"

"I have a favor to ask." Elizabeth smiled at him in a way that belied both her age and her ability to con autocratic military societies out of their supply of nuclear weapons.

"Speak the word," Rodney said generously, "and it shall be done."

"I know this sounds silly," Elizabeth said hesitantly. "But Ancient is such a beautiful language, so close to Latin, I've been trying to translate some of our Earth songs, Christmas carols actually, into Ancient. We're going to have a tree and I was just thinking that if we could find a room with good acoustics, large enough to set up the tree, maybe we could something of a concert in there."

Rodney felt the familiar twinge of ire at the mention of Christmas, but Elizabeth wasn't asking much and he was actually sort of flattered that she'd asked.

"Big room, good sound, some lights and amplification equipment?" he asked, just to check the parameters of the job. Zelenka was probably up for a little city exploration and once they found a place, the baby-faced systems guy, Campbell, would probably be the one to tap for setup. His mind was already calculating how large the room would have to be to fit -- comfortably -- the population of Atlantis and not subject any of the audience to dead spots.

"Exactly." Elizabeth beamed. "Thank you, Rodney." She touched his shoulder in that special, diplomatic, way she had. "Colonel Sheppard didn't think you would be interested but I don't think he realizes how much you enjoy music."

"Oh, really." The calculations froze in Rodney's head.

"He said you were being the Grinch," Elizabeth said conspiratorially, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

"Oh, he did, did he?" The numbers fell to pieces as if their polarity reversed and fell off his mental refrigerator.

"But _obviously_ he doesn't know what he's talking about." Elizabeth's faltered. Rodney watched her figure out that her crappy bedside manner had sold her out and she'd never seen it coming. "Right?"

"Right," Rodney said.

* * *

"McKay!"

Rodney looked up from his laptop. Sheppard was _bouncing_ in the doorway of the lab.

"Let me guess," he started.

"You won't, just c'mon," Sheppard said, jerking his head excitedly toward the hallway.

Rodney hit CTRL-S automatically. Sheppard hadn't been this excited about anything since maybe the Arcturus Project. And he wanted to share with Rodney.

It was worth checking out, at least.

Rodney stepped into the hall and blinked. The walls were blinking and _colored_. "You did this?" he asked, reaching out to touch one panel.

"I was thinking about Christmas lights," Sheppard explained, holding out both hands as if measuring a string of them. "And then I thought, the walls light up. Why not?"

The grin he offered Rodney was contagious.

"Hey," Rodney said. "I wonder if -- "

"Elizabeth!" John was halfway down the hall, grabbing Elizabeth and dragging her back to show her. "Look at this!"

Rodney stood in the middle of the hallway alone and watched the lights blink cheerfully around him as John ran at the mouth. No one noticed when he went back in the lab.

* * *

"Since when was there a mission scheduled?" Rodney asked, as he skidded into the gateroom.

"Did you not look on the plan of the day?" Colonel Sheppard asked, slinging a mysterious object that resembled an axe over his shoulder.

"I thought we usually had briefings or somesuch," Rodney replied snottily, testing the batteries on his scanner.

"We didn't need a briefing," Ronon rumbled.

Rodney stared at him. "Oh. Well. In that case. Into the breach we go."

Sheppard rolled his head back and called over his shoulder. "Dial it up!"

The event horizon splashed to life in front of the team and settled back into a stable wormhole.

"Happy hunting!" Elizabeth called from the catwalk.

"Thanks!" Sheppard called back, waving one arm over his head. He sauntered through the gate, closely followed by Teyla and Ronon, leaving Rodney to catch up.

"What are we hunting?" Rodney asked on the other side of the gate.

"Trees!" Sheppard called, hiking down a path and into the forest.

"Trees?" Rodney stopped in his tracks and stared after the rest of the team. "Oh, for crying out loud, is this another one of your inane Christmas obsessions?"

There was no answer and Rodney had to scramble to catch up before he was left behind.

"I think this one is healthy and full," Teyla was saying, surveying a pine tree a few feet taller than Ronon.

"Not big enough!" Sheppard said, tramping further into the woods.

"Wait, would someone please tell me why I'm even here?" Rodney asked, stepping into the clearing and holding up one hand for attention.

"Because you're part of the team," Sheppard said, amusement leeched from his voice. "And we're picking out a nice tree for Elizabeth and the rest of the city. And you're going to shut up and be happy about it."

Rodney opened his mouth, fully prepared to be unhappy about it, but Ronon loomed dark and angry over him, and then Teyla found what really was the perfect tree, and so Rodney had to determine the safest way to chop it down so that it didn't fall on anyone and cause irreparable brain damage.

* * *

Even the Mess was in on the conspiracy.

"What are these?" Rodney asked, peering at his tray.

"They're cookies, Dr. McKay," the Marine behind the counter said, the one with the name Rodney couldn't pronounce, but it rolled off Sheppard's tongue. "Gingerbread."

"I know what cookies are," Rodney told him witheringly. "I want to know why they all have stupid little red hats on them." He picked one up and turned it around to show the sergeant. A tiny red Santa hat was drawn in sugar on the gingerbread head. "Do you have any concept of political correctness? Do you not realize that while yes, Christmas has consumed the spirit of American commercialism and made it the unstoppable juggernaut that you see today, Christianity was not always the morass of secular opportunism that it is today." A familiar, dark-haired figure appeared behind him in line, adding to his ammunition. "Also, hello, not everyone celebrates the birth of Christ around here. Are you _seriously_ going to make Doctor Safir eat a Santa Claus cookie?"

"Mine have little yarmulkes," Yoni Safir said cheerfully, holding it up for Rodney's inspection. "But if you don't want yours, I'm not concerned with the secular opportunism of my congealed sugar."

He reached and Rodney snatched his cookies back, retreating into the noise and fuss of the mess hall. It wasn't easy to find an empty table, but no one wanted to eat with him, either, so one was vacated fairly rapidly.

Rodney ate his cookies first so he wouldn't have to see them. He stirred the squash and potatoes, formerly powdered, together and scooped them onto a fork, stabbing a sliver of poultry to top it all off.

"Hey," Sheppard said, setting his tray down across from Rodney and swinging his leg to the other side of the chair. He sat down and surveyed the food. "Better than last year's Christmas dinner, anyway," he said brightly, attacking the squash first.

"Where's Teyla and Ronon?" Rodney asked. He and John hadn't sat alone together at a table for months.

"Mainland," Sheppard said, peering at Rodney's plate. "She wanted to pick some stuff up and he volunteered to go with her. Lorne's taking them," he added, in explanation of why he hadn't gone.

"Hm." Rodney piled up food on his fork again and maneuvered the heap into his mouth.

"Too bad you've been so grumpy this year," John said with casualness that didn't come anywhere to close to being genuine. "I was going to decorate my room tonight."

"Such a shame my very important research conflicts with your frivolous indulgences," Rodney said, shoveling in another mouthful.

"Yeah, well, if your very important research lets you stop by for five minutes -- " Sheppard stopped talking and frowned at Rodney's plate again. "You don't have any cookies," he said. "How did you make it out of line without any cookies?"

And then he picked up one of his gingerbread men and held it out to Rodney. "Here, have one of mine. We'll get more on the way out."

"I don't want your cookie," Rodney sulked, taking it and biting its head off, anyway.

John scrunched up his eyebrows. "Is that a metaphor for something?"

* * *

Within a week, Rodney couldn't walk down the hall without being assaulted with reminder of the winter holidays.

Ronon had a stack of wreaths looped around one brawny arm and was handing them to Lorne to be tacked up on the doors of the living quarters.

Lieutenant Cadman nearly crashed into Rodney because the stack of packages she was carrying towered over her head.

Carson started talking about missing his mum more than usual.

Some idiot acquired a sprig of fake mistletoe and tacked it to the door of the nearest transporter to the control room. Rodney'd had to kiss Elizabeth twice, Teyla once, and managed, through an entirely manly avoidance dance, to not kiss John at all.

More and more of the corridors started twinkling in shades of red, green, blue, and gold, and Rodney found his eyes rolling to the ceiling every time someone else squealed over it.

"It is fantastic how Colonel Sheppard can manipulate the Ancient technology," Zelenka said as they walked down a blinking hallway on their way back from setting up the sound system in what was to be Elizabeth's concert hall.

"It is, isn't it," Rodney said. "And he's not the only one." He pointed accusingly at the wall and said, "Off!"

The wall blinked out meekly and faded in to its usual soft white glow. Rodney felt pleased for the first time all week and lifted his head to find Zelenka frowning at him.

"I'm sure it was draining power," he said, hating that he might sound the tiniest bit defensive.

* * *

Rodney stomped into the lab and was nearly blinded by the sheer number of lights and ornaments strung throughout the area.

"Oh, whose brilliant idea was _this_?" he demanded, shielding his eyes and squinting around the room.

"Ah, Doctor McKay?" A small, dark figure with massive eyeglasses reflecting the hundreds of twinkling lights popped up below his line of vision. "I thought, for the holidays, decoration?"

"Ohhhh, you thought. For the holidays." Rodney glared at Miko and snapped, "There was no thinking involved here! Unless you were thinking that you were going to _blind_ us all and in that case, this was some really spectacular thinking because wow, as a brilliant scientist, of course Christmas lights were the obvious answer! Is anybody doing any work in here? Can anyone even see in here? I'm surprised the glare off the computer screens hasn't set anything on fire yet! How much of an idiot do you have to be to pull some crap like this? Take it all down! Now!"

"But. But." Miko looked terrified. "It was so many hours to get them all up."

"And now it's going to be _so_ many hours to get them all down, so maybe next time you should just not do it at all, you think? Oh, wait, we're back to the thinking thing."

Tears shone behind Miko's glasses and started to tumble down her face.

"Oh, no," Rodney groaned, trying to be more put off by the crying than guilt-tripped. "Don't even. Don't even _start_ with that." He clapped a hand over his eyes so he wouldn't have to see and spun around to walk out the door and nearly crashed into Elizabeth.

"Rodney," she said, crossing her arms and Rodney's day just got worse.

* * *

"So," Dr. Heightmeyer said when it became clear that Rodney had nothing to say. "Let's talk about the source of all this repressed anger toward the holiday."

* * *

Rodney and his repressed anger walked into that afternoon's staff meeting ten minutes late and stopped short. And blinked.

"What -- " He waved a hand in front of his own eyes, convinced that Sheppard and his inane Christmas cheer had finally driven him 'round the bend.

Elizabeth sat in her usual place at the table, a red hat -- which managed to clash badly with her red shirt -- perched on her head. _Dr. Weir_ was stitched across the white trim in red thread and the white pom-pom dangled next to her cheek. She looked entirely too pleased.

Rodney quickly surveyed the rest of the room. _Everyone_ was wearing them. Beckett, Lorne, Ronon, Teyla… _Caldwell_. Sheppard's was even _jaunty_.

"Oh, my God," Rodney said, taking a step back toward the doors, which swished closed, trapping him in there with _the hats_. "Sheppard's rubbing off on all of you. How many of my staff have you infected?" he demanded.

"Rodney," Elizabeth warned. Rodney flashed back to Kate Heightmeyer chanting that Christmas had done him no harm. "Teyla brought us gifts."

"My people made them," Teyla said with a smile. She brought another one from the leather satchel sitting on the table in front of her. "There is even one for you, Doctor McKay."

Rodney somehow found himself unable to move and gaping like a fish as Teyla circled the table and went up on her tiptoes to settle the hat on his head.

The whole table beamed at him, except Sheppard, who just raised a curious eyebrow and for some reason, something in Rodney just snapped.

"I am _sick_ and _tired_ of being required to play at your delusional little fantasy games," he snapped, snatching the hat off. "I have made it abundantly clear on more than one occasion that I have absolutely no interest in your childish dedication to a holiday that lost any meaning it might have had decades ago and you people can't get it through your thick heads that I don't give a flying fuck. So take your crappy imitation commercial retard hats and stick them where the sun does not shine!" He threw the hat as hard as he could, but Athosian wool was impossibly lightweight for its warmth and the hat fluttered a few feet before coming to rest in a potted plant. A ten thousand year old, _dead_ potted plant that was decorated with popcorn and pseudo-cranberries and little foil constructs that might or might not be puddlejumpers. Rodney spun on his heel and stomped out of the room so fast he nearly slammed into the door.

The control center technicians -- and technicians was a ridiculous word because no one in the room had anything less than PhD, even if a few of them had come in Publisher's Clearinghouse envelopes -- all looked up as he barged through, and quickly looked back at their stations.

"McKay!" It was Sheppard and he was angry. Rodney could almost here the control room staff's necks as they swiveled back and forth again. Rodney was fast but Sheppard was faster and caught up before Rodney made it to the door. "Not here," Sheppard growled, cuffing Rodney on the neck and pushing him through the door and into the empty hallway.

"I'm sorry if I don't roll over and heel for you anymore," Rodney snapped, shrugging off Sheppard's hand and for a split second, Sheppard's face flashed hurt and then the anger took over again.

"You never rolled over for me," he hissed. "Never. In your life. And that's _fine_. I don't care how angry you are or how you take it out on me, but Teyla is off-limits, got it? She did not do anything to deserve those words. She and her people made us _gifts_ , gifts of things from our _home_ to make us feel _welcome_. You have no business, _none_ , at all, shitting on that. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Rodney said stiffly. It was clear, entirely so. It would have been clear, without Sheppard's lecture, if Rodney's head hadn't been so bombarded by inane Christmas gestures.

"Good." John's eyes were dark and stormy, reflections of the hurt from before glinting in the light. "You owe her an apology," he added, like Teyla was his best friend ever. Which these days, maybe she was.

Rodney stared at him mulishly.

"When you can offer one without being a complete jackass," John amended. "And you probably shouldn't bother going to the concert and tree-lighting tonight. Elizabeth is not happy."

"Fine. I wasn't going to go anyway." Rodney folded his arms and tilted his chin up. That was maybe technically not entirely true, but Sheppard didn't know that.

"Fine." Sheppard turned to go and hesitated. "You didn't always hate Christmas," he said in an odd voice, and it wasn't really a question. "Did you?"

Rodney set his mouth and walked away.

* * *

"I have this...irrational fear of candy canes," he told Heightmeyer two hours later.

* * *

Rodney lingered in the would-be concert hall until he was satisfied that everything was as well set up and error-proof as he could possibly make it -- which was to say, until the first person wandered in. He hid at in the lab until almost midnight, and then he went to his room to avoid the imminent clusterfuck of people returning from the concert bathed in holiday glow.

In his room, he shrugged off his jacket and unhooked his radio, setting it on the desk under his diplomas. He kicked off his shoes and nudged them under the bed, resolutely not thinking of the silly star ornament in the plastic storage carton. When he lay down, he fell asleep immediately.

"McKay."

"Hrm."

"McKay." The words were whispered and fairly easy to ignore if he tried very hard. "Open your eyes."

Rodney opened his eyes and jumped upright when he found his face inches away from Sam Carter's. "Sam!" he squeaked, scrambling upright. "What are you doing here?"

Sam sat up, smoothing the little red skirt she was wearing and adjusted her Santa hat. "Look, McKay," she said. "You've been a real jerk the last couple weeks."

"Oh, so you're going to harp on that? Get a new schtick, because trust me, this one's been done to death." Rodney crossed his arms and looked at her. "Nice outfit."

"Yeah, thanks. So look...."

"Is there mistletoe? Because I could _totally_ get in the spirit if there was mistletoe."

"Okay," Sam murmured. "That a horrible pun we're not even going to talk about." She rolled her eyes. "Look, you're going to be visited -- "

"Is that sort of a Mrs. Claus thing you have going on?" Rodney asked, deciding that really, John Sheppard and his elf ears had _never_ been enough for him to forget Sam Carter, not if she was going to wear this sort of thing. Damn his weakness for dumb blondes, anyway.

"All right, you know what? You are a jerk," Sam said, swinging her legs off the bed and standing up. "Also? Petty, arrogant, and _bad with people_. You're on your own with this one."

And she was gone.

"Huh." Rodney blinked at the place where she'd stood. "This is one freaky dream."

He shrugged and lay back down. He'd barely closed his eyes before passing out again.

* * *

"Hey, McKay! McKay! Wake up!" 

Rodney woke up disoriented. He flailed his way to a sitting position and blinked stupidly at the figure bouncing at the foot of his bed.

"C'mon, we got places to be! Things to do!"

"Ford?" he burst out. "Oh my God! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, dead?"

"Hey, hey, relax," Ford said, holding up his hands in a way that was probably supposed to be comforting but failed, utterly. One was not comforted by mere handwaving when one was confronted with dead people. "Man, I knew you were high-strung but -- "

Rodney looked more closely at Ford, dressed in his gray and black uniform. He wore a baseball cap and his left eye was as bright and clear as it was before the Siege. Suddenly, Rodney really hoped this wasn't a dream.

"Ford," he whispered.

"See?" Ford asked. he grinned, all white teeth and shiny hope. "It's all cool. I'm doing the whole Christmas Past thing. You ready to go?"

"What?" Rodney asked, wondering if it was time to start freaking out. "Christmas Past? You're a ghost?"

"C'mon, McKay," Ford said with a grin. "You're the original Scrooge."

Rodney opened his mouth to protest Ford's lack of originality and before he got a single word out, the world went blue and squishy, like traveling through a wormhole, and they were standing in the suburbs of Toronto. 

The house was a pale yellow, cookie-cutter, and showing vague signs of neglect. Everyone was too busy to properly weed the garden and dig out the plants killed by frost. A Buick Electra sat in the driveway, a baby seat evident in the back, and a slightly dented two-wheeler sat next to the garage. The training wheels were still on.

"This where I grew up," Rodney said flatly.

"Of course it is," Ford said. And with that, he stepped right through the wall. 

Rodney blinked and then frowned. Ford's face popped back out, and then a hand grabbed Rodney and dragged him straight into the brick. Rodney found himself in the living room of his parents' first house, a place he hadn't seen for thirty years.

"Wow," he said. "I never realized how tacky the seventies were."

"Yeah," Ford agreed, looking at the avocado-colored sofa and the chintzy decorations. "Nice. Hey, is that you? You were a cute kid, Doc."

Rodney looked. His seven-year-old self sat in a pile of paper and boxes, wearing pajamas with trains on them.

"I can't believe you spent that much money!" shrieked a female voice from the kitchen.

"You're being selfish," a man snapped back.

"How is it that I'm the selfish one? I'm the one who gave up her career to shuttle Rodney back and forth to school and seminars and -- and all those other things!"

"You went to seminars?" Ford asked quietly. "You're still wearing footie pajamas."

"Oh, shut up, Lieutenant," Rodney sighed as a high-pitched cry joined the fray.

"Don't blame your choices on me! You're the one who wanted him enrolled in every program known to mankind! I'm already shelling out thousands for that special school you insisted on!"

Little Rodney stood up and padded over to a crib set up unobtrusively in the corner of the room. He climbed up the slats and leaned over, patting the red-faced baby squalling inside. He grabbed at the top of the crib and stretched farther, to reach the stuffed bear on the baby's other side, lost his balance and tumbled right in on top of her.

The baby screamed louder.

"Yes, well, you hit the jackpot on this one," Rodney said tiredly and turning his back as the parents came running from the kitchen, still screaming at each other and at their children. "Next brilliant Christmas memory, please?"

"Yeah." Ford huffed out a breath. "Your folks are real pieces of work, McKay. Explains a lot." He clapped his hands together and the scene shifted, like walking through the gate and coming out the other side. "All right, this one's gotta be better," he said, looking around. "Where are we?"

"What? No enormous cosmic power?" Rodney asked wryly.

"Hey, I'm just playing along," Ford assured him. "So what's up here?"

"University of Colorado at Boulder," Rodney said, looking around the cramped and cluttered room. "I'm not even going to tell you what year."

"He-ey!" Ford drew out the word. "You've got a mullet!"

"Yes, thank you, and so did every other engineering major in this decade. That would be the decade you spent being born and playing with your GI Joes," Rodney clarified. His past self was sprawled at his desk, drooling onto a pile of blocked engineering paper and clutching a half-empty cup of coffee spasmodically. 

"This is great," Ford said with a grin. "So, what, you didn't even go home for Christmas?"

"Please. You saw my family." Rodney crossed his arms and checked the time. "Wait two more minutes."

Ford passed the time by wandering the room, poking at things. Rodney quashed the urge to scream at him three times and slipped once. Ford looked real enough that it was still a surprise when his finger passed through something.

Rodney kept one eye on his watch. Three…two…one….

Something outside exploded. The dorm room windows shuddered in their panes. The college-Rodney snapped awake.

Red light filled the room from the small window and all three of them rushed for it. Outside, a giant decorated Christmas tree burned violently, glass ornaments exploding in the heat and candy canes melting into their plastic wrapping and dripping from the tree.

"Wow," Ford said admiringly as Rodney's younger counterpart whooped and hollered. "That's one big bang." He glanced back at Rodney. "Why a Christmas tree, though? Everyone likes Christmas trees."

Rodney shrugged, a faint flush of shame warming his cheeks. "I was nineteen," he said. "You do stupid thing when you're nineteen. You have stupid ideals."

Ford studied him. "Huh."

"And, um, the campus police are about to show up."

"Huh, how did they know?" Ford asked as the door burst open and a swarm of college kids and geriatric retired cops flooded the room, wearing khakis and blue windbreakers over matching polo shirts.

"I may have left a note," Rodney said with a sigh.

Another watery shift in locale and they were standing in a holding cell at the local precinct with Rodney's nineteen-year-old self while the desk sergeant filled out paperwork and took reports from campus security.

"I think we've about covered this happy day," Rodney said.

"Yeah," Ford agreed with raised eyebrows and a low whistle and then the event horizon took them again.

"Oh, now here's a classic," Rodney muttered under his breath. The one-room apartment smelled a little like cooking gas and old beets. An ancient icebox was crammed next to a battered cookstove. A cot was set up in the corner next to a folding table doubling as a desk. The bathroom, he remembered, was down the hall and smelled like piss and vodka.

"You've got a lot of them," Ford admitted, turning in place to look around the tiny room. "Where are we now?"

"Siberia," Rodney declared. "Not so much a party place on Christmas Eve."

"What were you doing in Siberia?" Ford asked as the Rodney on the couch, almost invisible under a heap of blankets, poked a fork in a jar of pickled fish. "And ew, what are you eating?"

"Pickled fish," Rodney said. "They're not actually as bad as they look."

By this time, the cat that had been curled up on Siberia Rodney's lap had jumped to the floor and was eyeing them both in suspicion and scorn.

"Nice kitty," Ford said nervously. 

"Can she see us?" Rodney asked in wonder.

"She's not supposed to," Ford said. "Are you going to blow anything up?"

"Nope," Rodney said. 

"Anyone going to scream? Knock down the door? Bring you cookies?" Ford's smile was hopeful and very young.

Rodney snorted. "I'm going to watch The Christmas Story dubbed into Russian for the next twenty-four hours, minus whatever time I spend sleeping. And wow do I hope it's more than I remember."

Ford was still eyeing the cat. Her tail twitched back and forth. "Maybe we should take off, then," he said warily.

"You're not missing anything here," Rodney confirmed as the blue ripple took them once again.

"Hey, I remember this!" Ford said, looking around the wooded camp and the four people sitting around a crackling fire, talking and laughing. "This was our mission last year."

"Yes," Rodney said, a lead weight settling on his chest. "Stuck in another galaxy on an unknown planet."

Ford shrugged, watching the scene avidly. "You looked happy enough to me."

The Rodney at the campfire was grinning and waving his arms and talking a mouthful of MRE -- chicken a la king, Rodney's exceptional memory reminded him.

"Oh, tell her 'Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer,'" his memory-self suggested.

"Man, my grandma hates that song," memory-Ford said but he was grinning anyway.

"And the major has a terrible singing voice," memory-Teyla teased. "So you will have to sing this one, Dr. McKay."

"Oh, well, thanks, Teyla," memory-Sheppard said, lounging back and crossing his feet at the ankle. "C'mon, Rodney. Serenade us. I'll try not to screw you up too badly."

"You're all completely cracked," memory-Rodney said, straightening up. He cleared his throat and belted out, "Grandma got run over by a reindeer, walking home from our house Christmas Eve...."

Sheppard and then Ford chimed in. "You can say there's no such thing as Santa, but as for me and Grandpa, we believe!"

"She'd been drinking too much eggnog," memory-Rodney continued. "C'mon guys, I don't remember the whole thing!"

"And we begged her not to go!" memory-Ford volunteered.

"But she forgot her...."

Memory-Sheppard and memory-Rodney stared at each other for almost three counts before Rodney recalled, "Medication! And she staggered out into the snow!"

"When we found her Christmas morning," memory-Ford added.

"At the scene of the attack," memory-Sheppard remembered.

"She had hoofprints on her forehead and incriminating clawmarks on her back," they all managed before collapsing into chuckles and laughs.

"What a terrible song!" memory-Teyla exclaimed, but her eyes were shining and she was smiling, laughing despite herself. She'd caught on to reindeer and eggnog soon enough and if the song confused her, she didn't let on.

"C'mon, McKay," Ford said, slinging an arm across Rodney's shoulders. "You can't tell me you weren't having fun."

Rodney tried to scowl but didn't quite make it. "Yeah," he admitted. "That was a nice night."

Over by the fire, the team casually discussed the watch rotation, and then Ford and Teyla ducked inside their tent.

Rodney watched with an aching heart as memory-Sheppard nudged his counterpart with one shoulder and they spoke quietly to each other. Then, as Rodney and Ford watched, Sheppard lifted one hand to the side of memory-Rodney's face and kissed him.

"Oh, I did not need to see that," Ford burst out. "Dude! I'm like -- " He gestured wildly to the tent beyond them. "I'm sleeping over there! Have a little respect!"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "In that case? We should probably leave."

Ford stared at the scene for a moment longer before Rodney's words sunk in. "Oh, man, McKay. Thanks. Now I'm going to be scarred for the rest of my life." 

The feeling of passing through a wormhole swept over Rodney once more and then he was sitting up in bed, warm and safe and definitely far, far away from memories of past fireside sing-alongs and warm kisses.

"What are you sitting there for? Get up, we have work to do!"

"What?" Rodney blinked and looked around.

Radek Zelenka was standing in the middle of Rodney's room, hands on his hips. Around him, laptops sat on every surface, humming merrily.

In fact, they were humming White Christmas, in a synchronized and electronic fashion, much like cell phones on low. 

"Hello? We have one hour and you insist on wasting it by asking stupid questions. Get up," Zelenka ordered, tapping his watch. 

"What are you doing in my room?" Rodney demanded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and struggling to unwind the blankets from his arm. He was flustered to have been caught mooning over last year's Christmas Eve -- the dream of it, he scolded himself. "You couldn't just...call on the radio? Or leave it until tomorrow? What's the emergency?" he asked, stalking over to Zelenka and his harem of laptops. 

Zelenka heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Have you not read the book? Seen the movie? Patrick Stewart? Rodney, I am very disappointed. Who comes after Christmas Past?"

"Oh, no," Rodney said, taking a step backward. "Oh, no no no no no. You are all trying to drive me crazy. I see what this is! Professional jealousy!"

"Please." Zelenka rolled his eyes. "We are physicists. The crazier we are, the more revered we will be. Why would I be helping you achieve that?"

"Huh." It was a good point and Rodney was impressed with Radek for making it. "Okay, fine, whatever. Ghost of Christmas Present. Why are you a ghost, anyway? You're still alive. You...are still alive, aren't you?"

"Of course I am still alive. I am your subconscious's manifestation of Christmas in this present. Apparently you anticipate spending the whole holiday in the lab. Your error is in thinking that I, too, will be spending all day in the lab."

"You're mean you're not -- Oh, never mind," Rodney sighed. "I don't want to know. What do you have for me?"

"Glad you asked." Zelenka picked up one of the laptops, lifted the lid, and then shook his head and set it back down. He repeated the process with two others and then appeared to find the one he wanted. "All right. Look at this."

Rodney looked. It was his lab -- well, a lab, and there was Miko, hunched over a table, crying. "Oh," he complained, straightening up. "What are you -- " Rodney blinked and found himself standing in the lab itself, watching Miko sob her heart out. "Oh, fine," he said. "Miko? Miko, stop crying. I'm...." He heaved a sigh and waved one hand across her vision. "...sorry. Okay? You can stop crying now. Any time."

"She cannot hear you or see you," Radek said primly from behind him. "All she knows is the pain of rejection and shame."

"What?" Rodney squinted at Radek. "She burned out my retinas and I told her that her decorating skills suck! Since when can't people who work for me take a little honesty?"

"She is far from her family and she looks up to you far more than she should," Radek said, boosting himself up on a lab table and swinging his legs. His laptop sat perched on his knees.

"Miko?" It was Simpson, her pinched face concerned as she peeked into the lab. "Oh, Miko." She walked in, holding a plate of the gingerbread dusted with powdered sugar that had been served at dinner.

Miko sat up hastily and wiped away her tears, pushing her glasses back on her face hurriedly. 

"You can't let him get to you," Simpson said sympathetically, setting the plate of gingerbread down in front of Miko. "I brought you dessert."

"Thank you," Miko said formally. "That was very kind of you. I am fine. I just need to work harder -- "

"No," Simpson said positively. "You need to work less hard and stop listening to the gospel according to Rodney McKay. He may be brilliant, but he's still an ass."

Miko sniffed. "He said we were all sent to Atlantis because the SGC didn't want us around."

"They didn't want him around," Simpson said. "You ever hear the story about how he almost got Tea'lc killed and wound up getting sent to Siberia?"

Miko's eyes widened.

"Oh, way to accentuate the positive," Rodney groaned.

"You bring on to yourself," Radek told him. 

"Hey, ladies," Major Lorne said, sticking his head in the door. "You're missing it. They're getting ready to light the tree."

Simpson blushed and smiled at him. "Thanks, we'll be right there," she said. "C'mon," she whispered to Miko. "We don't want to miss the tree."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, no," he simpered. "Don't want to miss the tree."

Miko grabbed her gingerbread and they left the lab, killing the light on the way out. Miko's face shone in the light of the hallway before the door closed and Rodney was alone with Radek and his damned laptop.

"Was that supposed to make me feel remorseful and sad?" he asked. "Because really, the idea of Simpson and Lorne just totally wiped any chance of that from my synapses. It's a miracle I still have sight."

"A pity," Zelenka muttered. "Very well. Plan B."

They were back in Rodney's room and Rodney had to wait for Zelenka to shuffle through the laptops until he found the appropriate one again.

"Could you not have planned ahead for this?" Rodney asked impatiently.

"Shut up," Radek said and shoved the notebook in his face. "Or I will point out that Dr. Simpson was correct about Siberia."

"You're not winning any points here," Rodney said as Radek shoved another notebook in his face.

"Shut up and watch the pretty pictures," Radek ordered him.

Teyla and Ronon were on the screen this time. Teyla was threading popcorn on cinnamon-flavored dental floss. Ronon was eating the popcorn. 

"Oh, don't do that, you moron," Rodney said with a sigh, leaning over to grab some of the popcorn himself and realizing that no, he really couldn't touch anything.

"Last year," Teyla was saying, "this popcorn was very precious. It was not used in decoration. The Colonel very much looked forward to returning to Earth so that he could get more."

Ronon ate a few more kernels thoughtfully. "Huh." He leaned over the table. "What did you get McKay?"

Teyla raised an eyebrow at him. Ronon shrugged.

"He's a pain in the ass. But Sheppard said we should get him stuff anyway."

"Oh, sure," Rodney said, waving helplessly at them. "Bring on the guilt trip!"

"Dr. McKay is fond of sweets," Teyla said, knotting off the end of a string and threading a new needle. "I have made him a selection of treats my people enjoy."

Ronon rolled his tongue into his cheek as if he was digging popcorn kernels out. Or trying not to laugh. "You made them, huh?" he asked.

Teyla scowled fiercely at him and then laughed, and threw a handful of popcorn at his face. "You should not doubt," she scolded mischievously.

"Yes, yes, puppy love is so heart-warming," Rodney said, rolling his hand in the 'hurry up already' gesture. "Is it time to move on, yet?"

Ronon grinned. "McKay likes food," he agreed. "I'll find something for him."

"Eh." Rodney sighed. "They're on a campaign to make me look bad."

"Rest assured," Radek told him. "You do just fine entirely by yourself."

"Just...give me the damn laptop," Rodney said, tugging it out of Radek's hands. He turned it toward him and found himself back in his room with the rest of Radek's collection.

"And you wonder why no one likes you very much," Radek said, snatching his computer back.

"I don't wonder," Rodney muttered, folding his arms across his chest. "I have more important things to do."

"Yes, like thinking of all the things you have missed out on. Try this one." Radek shoved another laptop in Rodney's face.

"What's this?" Rodney asked, looking around the candlelit room. "Sheppard's harem?"

"No, that's next," Radek said. "Look."

Rodney looked. 

Elizabeth Weir sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by candles. She had a long match in one hand, and she glanced at a list in her hand before lighting the next one.

"Sergeant Markham," she said, her voice low and clear, echoing slightly in the domed room.

"I don't even know where this is," Rodney said, his voice hushing automatically. He glanced around for windows or a transporter, but there were none and the single door behind Elizabeth was closed. 

"Colonel Sheppard found it when looking for living quarters for all the new personnel," Radek answered just as quietly. "We are very far away from everything. Not good barracks. Doctor Weir asked that he not open this section to everyone just yet."

"Sergeant Smith," Elizabeth said, leaning forward to light the next candle in the row.

"Oh, my God," Rodney whispered. He looked at the row of lit candles and the row and a half of those still dark and his mouth fell open.

Radek stayed respectfully silent.

"Peter Grodin." Elizabeth's voice cracked on his last name and Rodney finally saw the tears slipping down her face, golden in the candles' flames.

He reached out despite himself, saw his own fingers slip through her hair, unfelt.

"She shouldn't have to do this alone," he whispered, feeling his own throat close up.

"Who else to do it with?" Radek asked with a shrug of one shoulder.

Elizabeth Weir had never been Rodney's type, but then, in that room, as he watched her work her way through the list, he fell a little in love with her.

Rodney sat down beside her and listened to her start in on the Marines killed during the Siege. He stayed until she spoke the last name, lit the last candle, and curled in on herself.

"Is time to go," Radek said.

"Not until she's done," Rodney snapped.

"She is done," Radek said. "This is her burden to bear."

"It's not fair," Rodney said, blinking away gathering tears. He remembered them too, Gaul, and Dumais, and Lindstrom, and his own failure, Collins. 

"It never is."

And then they were back on Rodney's room, sitting on the floor together, with the laptop sitting on Radek's knees.

"Yeah, well, great," Rodney said, dragging his forearm across his face. "If you're done with your hour of torture, get out of here, okay? I have things to do."

"Sorry, no," Radek said and he did even look a little sorry. "As much as I would like to be able to stop listening to you, we have one more stop."

"Great." Rodney sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "Can we get on with it then?"

"I must find the right laptop," Radek muttered, sorting through a couple.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Rodney exploded.

"There we go." Radek shoved the screen in Rodney's face and the scene changed again.

Rodney knew this scene, knew it well. The gray walls, the guitar John couldn't actually play, the picture of the little boy and the proud military father John wouldn't actually talk about. Slightly larger bed aside, Rodney preferred its predecessor, the smaller, more cramped room just off the control room with its single lamp and War and Peace everpresent on bedside table. He knew better than anyone that John's intimacies were just more illusions.

The man himself was lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, in what looked like a sprawl, but lacked the casualness inherent to the position. John's other hand played over a set of dog tags. He was in full uniform, even the sidearm still strapped to his thigh. A small pile of gifts, gaily wrapped, sat on his desk and Rodney didn't have to look to know that there would be one with his name on it, despite his atrocious behavior of the past week.

"Huh. Well. Looks like I'm not the only one with insomnia tonight. Let's go." Rodney turned and tried to march through the door, but Zelenka caught his collar and dragged him back around.

He realized, belatedly, what was wrong with the room. Aside from the gifts, not a single decoration or ornament was visible. Even John's Athosian Santa hat was tucked somewhere out of sight. The year before, when they'd had nothing, when John's room was little more than a closet, he'd dragged Rodney in to help him decorate, and decorate they had. They'd strung up LED lights and lined the walls with silver foil blankets from the survival packs and twisted tree branches from the mainland into vague wreath-shapes. John had found orangish-red plastic strips somewhere that they'd turned into lopsided bows and dragged down the hallways. Rodney had never figured out its intended use.

This room was as dark as his own -- and as dark as his own had been last year, because he'd spent his nights in John's room, moving together in the twinkle of the LEDs and making terrible jokes about the silver foil on the walls.

"What, what do you want me to do?" Rodney asked Radek. He looked back at John. "What, you're lonely? I'm supposed to feel bad about that?" He frowned. "Why don't you go keep Elizabeth company," he shouted, "instead of lying here feeling sorry for yourself? This is your fault, you know! This was not my idea! I'm still the one trying to earn your forgiveness, remember?"

"It is a difficult thing," Radek said behind him, "to forgive someone who has tread harshly on your trust. But it is a still harder thing to accept forgiveness."

"That's forgiveness?" Rodney flung an arm out at John. "I didn't get the memo where moping around your room and staring at the ceiling was forgiveness. And you think I'm emotionally retarded?"

Radek sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Rodney," he said with what was clearly the last of his patience. "What do you think he was trying to do all week?"

Rodney's mouth dropped open involuntarily and the thought barely had time to process before he found himself once more in his own bed.

"What," Rodney asked the ceiling, "is the point of putting me back in bed if you're only going to wake me right back up again?"

"Well," a familiar drawl said. "This way we get to hear you bitch and moan some more."

Rodney sat up to see John Sheppard straddling his desk chair, booted feet set wide and chin resting on his crossed forearms. He was wearing the black t-shirt and appeared to be fully armed. His arms still looked very nice, Rodney thought shallowly, then squinted at the fine sprinkling of gray hairs in among the dark.

"Wait, you're the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" Rodney asked skeptically.

"Yep."

"What happened to the whole deal with the shroud and the silence and the pointing? Doomsaying too taxing for you?"

Sheppard made the face that clearly suggested Rodney go fuck himself, and shrugged. "I did that last year. Got old, fast."

"Ah, yes, well, that's your attention span at work. Faster than a speeding goldfish."

"Yeah, so are you ready to get this show on the road?" John asked. "Because the suck of getting old is that you seriously need to get more than four hours of sleep a night."

"Well, maybe you and your incorporeal cronies should have thought of that before keeping me up all night," Rodney snapped, kicking the covers away and glancing down at himself. "What is this?"

John grinned. "C'mon, McKay. What's the point of having omnipotence if you can't have a little fun with it?"

Rodney narrowed his eyes under the hem of his sleep cap. "I'm reporting you to...whatever higher power you answer to for abuse of privileges," he announced. He shuffled forward in his bunny slippers. "And I am absolutely not swayed by your blatant attempt to ogle my legs."

John rolled his eyes. Up close, Rodney could see the lines around them and at the corners of his mouth. "Right. Let's get going." He snapped his fingers and in an overly dramatic whoosh, Rodney and John were standing in the middle of a fairground. The nightshirt had a draft.

"Is this where we get to ride the Ferris Wheel of Death?" Rodney asked.

"Nope," John said, boosting himself up to sit on a stage featuring three curtains. He swung his feet and kicked his heels against the risers. "This is your future, Rodney McKay. Care to look behind curtain number one?"

"Go for it," Rodney invited, waving one hand.

Curtain Number One, which seemed to be the red one on the left, slid open to show a younger John, the John Rodney knew, kissing Chaya.

"Oops, how did that get in there?" John wondered, and the curtain slid shut again.

"Oh, I can't imagine," Rodney said, crossing his arms -- he was cold. "Shall we try again?"

"Sounds like a plan," John agreed. Curtain Number One opened again, to show...John kissing Teyla. Rodney squinted and saw himself in the background, working diligently in the lab. "Oops. Wrong again." Curtain Number One closed again and this time opened on John kissing Elizabeth. "Huh," John said. 

"I think I'm getting the idea," Rodney said dryly. 

The next two attempts were John kissing Ronon ("I think it's broken." "Oh, please.") and then Radek. The Rodney working away in the background was getting progressively balder.

"Oh, Radek? What the hell were you thinking? Okay, you know what?" Rodney said, wincing and holding up one hand to block the image. "Forget I asked. Let's go back, sing some Christmas carols, throw a little mistletoe around, kill a goose, whatever makes you happy and saves me from Sheppard Does Atlantis."

"All right, all right," John sighed. "Let's try Curtain Number Two."

Curtain Number Two was in the middle and a threadbare blue. It opened to blackness.

"I hate it when it does this," John said, hopping up on the stage and walking toward the curtain. "Get up here." He snapped his fingers and Rodney was on the stage, too, walking toward the curtain and trying not to step out of his bunny slippers.

Behind the curtain, Atlantis was in chaos. The consoles in the control room burned, flames licking up even as foam sputtered down from the ceiling.

"We don't have time!" John yelled at Zelenka, who was struggling with one of the laptops. Or rather -- Almost-John.

Rodney glanced to the version to his right who was watching the scene with crossed arms and an impassive face.

"You lost an eye?" he asked, saddened. A pilot couldn't fly with one eye.

Before John could answer, Ronon and McKay burst into the control room.

"Ronon only has one leg!" Rodney said before he could stop himself, watching Ronon use a tall walking stick to swing himself down to Sheppard.

"And he's still faster than you," John said quietly, the corner of his mouth turning up.

Rodney glared. "Very funny."

"Beckett's dead," Ronon growled to the Sheppard with the eyepatch. "There's no one left. We have to go."

Rodney suddenly recognized the thumping sound in the background. Wraith darts hitting the shield. "What happened here?" he asked.

"The Wraith came," John said simply. "And came, and came, and came."

"Move!" the Mckay in the scene screamed to Zelenka. He was nearly bald and gaunt, one entire side of his face slack with paralysis. 

"Where's Elizabeth?" Rodney asked. "Teyla? Lorne?"

John's mouth tightened and he inclined his head slightly.

"The gate has to be blown manually," McKay said, typing frantically. "You need to go through now."

"You need to go through," Sheppard yelled. "Show me."

McKay stared at him for a long moment. Sheppard turned his head over his shoulder -- on the side with the good eye -- and barked to Ronon, "Get Zelenka through."

Ronon snarled, his eyes fixed on Sheppard and McKay, then slung Zelenka over his shoulder and went through the event horizon.

"McKay, you're going," Sheppard said, his voice loud and firm. "That's an order. If everyone else is going to survive, you need to be on the same side of the gate as them. Show me the sequence and go now."

The live side of McKay's face tightened as he pointed out a sequence on the keyboard, and then, looking back at Sheppard the entire time, he stumbled down the stairs and to the gate.

"Go!" Sheppard shouted, his voice already harsh. "I'm blowing the gate. Go through or get blown with it!"

McKay's damaged mouth moved, he shouted something, and not one of them could hear it as the shield collapsed and the buzz of Wraith darts backed the roar of the fires in the control room. He turned and dove through the event horizon. Seconds later, Sheppard slammed his hand on the laptop and the entire scene disintegrated in a deafening blaze of fire and black smoke.

Rodney reached to grab John's arm, but they turned out to be just as incorporeal to each other as they were to everyone else. Rodney clenched his fist instead and said, "I wouldn't leave you. I wouldn't leave you like that. I wouldn't."

"That's okay," John said, standing there, impervious, with his arms still crossed over his chest. "That's not how it happened anyway."

"That's not -- " Rodney waved one hand at the fading scene before them. "How does my lack of Christmas spirit bring on the Apocalypse anyway?"

"It doesn't," John said mildly. "It was just the worst thing I could come up with. And I thought it would be cool to have an eyepatch."

"Oh, my God." Rodney closed his eyes. "Can we be serious here? Just for a minute?"

John didn't answer and when Rodney opened his eyes, he was alone. Everything was dark, except for a spotlight shining on the tarnished gold curtain that was undoubtedly Number Three. Rodney shuffled forward in his bunny slippers and yanked it aside, ready to give John an earful about leaving a scientist obviously entrusted to his care, but John wasn't waiting for him on the other side.

"Do I even know where this is?" Rodney asked but there was no answer. He was standing outside a nice little house on a nice little street in a nice little suburb. A man in blue walked by -- through -- him on his way up the driveway. He wasn't just wearing blue. He was wearing a blue uniform, one that Rodney recognized as US Air Force. His hair was gray and his face was set. A gold wedding ring gleamed on his left hand when he rapped sharply on the door. "John?" He ran up the walk as fast as his bunny slippers would let him and saw a gray-haired woman open the door and offer John a confused look. 

"Can I help you?" she said and Rodney recognized the skeptical tone. 

"Jeannie?" he said, stumbling to a halt. "Guess you got the famous McKay metabolism, too."

"May I come in?" John asked, and Jeannie let him in and closed the door just as Rodney ran up to it. He heaved a sigh, squeezed his eyes closed, and walked through.

Jeannie already had John sitting on her couch and was handing him a cup of coffee.

"Rodney?" she was saying. "Goodness. I don't think I've heard from in him, it must be coming on twenty-five years, now."

"He -- " John looked down into the coffee. "He said that you weren't close."

"I guess we weren't," Jeannie said, sitting down with her own cup of coffee. "I sent him an invitation when I got married and it came back. I figured he fell off the face of the Earth."

John's mouth didn't twitch. "He'd been working on a highly classified project," he said. "I...worked with him. For many years."

"Oh." Jeannie looked sad. "I guess I'll never know what he did. I used to Google his name every once in a while. I figured he'd be teaching somewhere or writing books, but I never found anything."

"The nature of his work was highly classified," John said. "It may never be declassified, but if it is, you'll know that Rodney did a lot of very important work."

Jeannie nodded. "Was he married? Did he have kids? Anyone?"

John set his coffee down and closed his right hand over his left. "No. No one."

"You're so totally lying," Rodney said out loud. "Look at you. You're wearing a ring, for crying out loud! Is the military still that homophobic in twenty years?"

"Oh," Jeannie said quietly. "I'm sorry to hear that. I mean, he was always a pain in the ass, but -- "

"I have a picture of him," John said suddenly. "He used to build things for my kids."

"What?" Rodney said. "We really weren't -- you went and married someone else?"

"Well." Jeannie raised her eyebrows at the picture John pulled from her wallet.

"Let me see that," Rodney said, running around behind Jeannie's chair and squinted at the picture. He was completely bald and fending off two small, tawny children of indeterminate gender with full heads of dark cowlicks. "Oh, my God." He looked up at the gray-haired John, his heart sinking. "You really did marry someone else. You spawned."

"He had that look on his face a lot when we were growing up," Jeannie said, handing John's picture back with a sigh. "He always did hate kids, even when he was one."

"Hey!" Rodney said, indignantly, ignoring the way his heart was pounding in his chest.

"His body has already been interred," John said. "The Air Force has handled everything. But if you'd like to hold a memorial service...." He trailed off into significant silence.

"I don't know that there's anyone left to remember him," Jeannie said softly. "Except me."

"Oh, no," Rodney said. "No, don't say that! I left my mark on the scientific world! I -- I won a Nobel prize. I presented the grand unified theory of two galaxies! I was brilliant! I was memorable! John loved me," he whispered.

"I'm sorry for your loss," John said. He stood and let Jeannie usher him out. 

"No," Rodney said, standing in the middle of Jeannie's living room, wearing his sleepshirt, bunny slippers and stocking cap. "No. I can't believe. I -- I -- No!" He ran out the door, forgetting to flinch as he ran through glass and metal. "John! I -- No, wait!"

"Unfortunately," John said at his back, "that's how it does happen." 

Rodney turned and tripped on his slippers. "Don't say that!" he shouted. "Just because I made fun of his hat and -- and -- wouldn't hang up a few ornaments or participate in those -- those juvenile singalongs...John wouldn't stop loving me for that."

"You dumbass," John said and it sounded equal parts affectionate and accusing. "I never stopped loving you. That was all of your own making."

"No, but I wouldn't -- he -- it wasn't -- he didn't trust me -- you didn't trust me -- " Rodney's words tumbled over themselves as his brain sped to the only logical conclusion. "Oh, my God. I'm such a dumbass." He slapped his palm on his forehead. "I need to go back! I need to wake up!" Rodney pinched his arm and only succeeded in reddening the skin. "You!" He pointed at John-of-Yet-to-Come. "Put me back! I'm a dumbass! I have things to do!"

"You better not fuck this up," John said, stepping up to Rodney and poking him hard in the chest with one finger.

"I won't," Rodney promised as he felt himself fall backward. "I won't, I won't, I won't."

Rodney hit his bed with a thump and opened his eyes to see the ceiling of his bedroom in Atlantis. "Oh, thank God," he said, sitting straight up and finding himself in yesterday's uniform. "What time is it?" 

His clock said 0500. His watch said the same. "Good, good, good," he said, tapping his palm against his fist. "There are things to do, there are labs to decorate, there are hallways to light up. I should take a shower. I don't have time to take a shower." He paused and sniffed his uniform. "I should take a shower."

He undressed on his way across the room, dropping uniform pieces as he went. John woke up at 0600 sharp every morning -- all right, not sharp, the man was harder to drag out of bed than Rodney's cat, but he was always out the door by seven. He showered in record time, located a clean uniform, and stepped into the hall brimming with Christmas spirit. 

He was halfway down the hall before it occurred to him that they weren't blinking. "Walls!" he proclaimed, pointing at one. "Blink!" The walls stayed white. "C'mon," he demanded. "You did it for Sheppard." Slowly, as if they were afraid he was going to change his mind, the walls blushed into red, green, and blue panels and when he rotated his hand, they finally began to blink in turn. "Great, you guys are doing great!" he told them as he ran down toward the jumper bay. "Wait! I forgot!"

He double-timed it back to his room and dragged a storage tote out from under the bed. "Where did I put that?" he muttered to himself, throwing flash drives and Power Bars, and pictures of his cat behind him as he searched for the box in question. "Ah ha!" Clutching the box, he left the room again.

"Okay, now where do they keep the -- " He scrambled into the transporter, hit the location of the control room and stumbled out to the confused expressions of the skeleton duty watch. "Merry Christmas!" he called to them as he ran up the stairs to the jumper bay. "Or -- Happy Kwanzaa, or Chanukah, or whatever it is you celebrate!"

The survival supplies had been stored in the jumper bay ever since the incident with Kolya and the storm because John had wanted a quick escape to be possible. Rodney raided the surplus closet for a supply of silver foil blankets and the orange-red tape that John had used last year. He still have no idea what its real purpose was, but it was nice to know that it was important. He sat down, right there on the floor -- actually on the pile of survival blankets which weren't necessarily any less uncomfortable than the floor itself -- and tied a half dozen large, if not necessarily symmetrical, bows.

"There!" he declared, pinning one on each puddlejumper and taking the last one with him, back through the control room, where everyone looked just a little more confused, and to the transporter.

The transporter took him back to the living quarters and he was nearly at his destination when he realized he'd omitted a very important step. He turned and went to the nearest familiar room and tapped the door chime twice, then a third time when the occupant didn't answer.

"Rodney?" Laura Cadman asked when she opened the door, blinking sleepily at him. "What's the matter?"

"I need you to wrap this," Rodney said, pushing the box into her hand. "I'd do it myself but I don't have any paper and there was this incident with tape last year that I really would rather not have spread around so if you don't mind and -- oh, Merry Christmas. You do celebrate Christmas, right?"

"Love? Who is it?" came a sleepy voice from inside.

"Oh!" Rodney recoiled and covered his face even though there was nothing to see. "I so did not want to know that. I'll just be -- you know...over here." He waved to the other side of the hallway and beat hasty retreat.

The door closed again and Rodney paced the hallway anxiously. He'd made four rounds when he realized that it wasn't lit like his own, and concentrated on making the walls multi-colored and blinking.

"A hat," he said aloud when the wall problem had been taken care of. "Where's my hat?"

"Rodney?" Laura stuck her head back out the door. She was wearing a robe and slippers and holding Rodney's box, neatly wrapped. "I did this because you said please -- actually, you didn't say please, but you did say Merry Christmas, which was weird enough, but first off, you cannot come barging into my room at 0600 and tell me to wrap your Christmas presents and secondly, this is an ugly, ugly -- "

"I know, I know, I'm dumbass," Rodney said quickly, darting over to snatch the box from her hand. "I should have planned ahead and I'm sorry, but you are fantastic and -- and, thank you." He threw his arms around her and hugged her.

"I'm -- going back to bed," she said when Rodney let go. "There's just been too much weird for me to deal with this morning." She vanished back into her room with Rodney calling holiday wishes after her.

"Hat!" Rodney announced, pointing down the hall. He'd thrown his Santa hat across the conference room the day before and so he ran back to the transporter, pausing to light every hallway he traveled. The control room staff looked at him suspiciously as he reappeared and yelled, "Merry Christmas!" again before he barged into the conference room. It wasn't on the table or under the table or even in the potted plant -- decorated -- where it had landed. Someone had taken it, who had taken it? He snapped twice, trying to grab onto the germ of an idea that was growing in his head. Teyla!

Teyla's quarters were down an entirely different set of hallways, giving him ample opportunity to make more walls blink. He rang her chime only once and then clenched his fist to stop himself from banging on the door until she appeared.

Teyla did not look amused. Belatedly, Rodney remembered his rudeness in rejecting her gift the day before.

"Doctor McKay," she said evenly and Rodney knew he was in trouble.

"Teyla," he said, willing his voice to be steady. He raised his chin and took a fortifying breath. "I...was...unconscionably rude to you yesterday." Apologies were always so difficult and awkward.

Teyla raised one eyebrow.

"You offered me a gift," he acknowledged. "And I, well, I threw it across the room. And then I said some pretty terrible things."

Teyla crossed her arms.

"And. I am sorry," he said, and he actually felt contrite when he said it. When had that happened? "I have been in a really lousy mood for the last couple of days -- couple of weeks, really, and God, Teyla, I never meant to take it out on you, or on Christmas, or on anyone. I was just lonely, and hurt, and I was mad, because last year had been so good, so really really good and I just -- I'm really sorry. I -- I'd like my hat, if you still have it."

"Rodney." Teyla uncrossed her arms and stepped forward and for a moment, Rodney was convinced that his ass was about to be kicked clear across Atlantis. "In the time that I have known you, you have grown a great deal spiritually." Rodney opened his mouth and Teyla lifted a quelling hand. "But one thing you have not learned is that you are our friend and that your burdens do not need to be carried alone."

Tears pricked unexpectedly in Rodney's eyes and he swallowed hard and looked away. When he felt Teyla hand on his shoulder, he looked up again, sufficiently in control, and she held the soft red hat with "Dr. McKay" stitched across the white trim.

"It really is very nice," he said, folding his hand over the fluffy wool.

"Enjoy it," Teyla said, releasing it to him and setting her hand on his other shoulder. She bowed her head to him, as she had to John over a year ago, and Rodney finally knew what it meant to touch his forehead to hers. "And don't be afraid," she whispered when they were in the safety of their own shadows. "He is terrible with words as well."

"You, um." Rodney waved one hand and gestured in what was meant to be the general direction of Sheppard's quarters. "You knew about that, huh?"

Teyla lifted her head and stepped back. "I know that your relationship with the Colonel is complex and that it has suffered," she said serenely. "Please go fix it. Before the situation becomes unbearable for the rest of us."

"Right. I'll um, I'll get right on that," Rodney offered, backing away and waving loose gestures down both sides of the hall."

"You...do that," Teyla said. She winked at him and went back into her rooms. Rodney grinned after her until he realized he was standing in the hall, grinning like a loon, and then he ran to Sheppard's quarters, lighting hall panels along the way.

Outside John's door, Rodney settled his Athosian Santa hat on his head, moved the Cadman-wrapped package and the plastic bow from one hand to the other, practiced his posture, opened his mouth, and wondered what he was going to say. He stepped back, then decided he'd figure out what to say when he had to say it -- it was always a plan that had worked for him in the past -- and reached for the door chime.

Before he could touch it, the door snapped open and Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, his hair still dark, both eyes intact, and his hair a disgusting mess, walked out of his quarters and right into Rodney.

"McKay?" he asked in a tone Rodney thought was maybe disgust. Inconvenience, at the very least.

"I was supposed to have mistletoe," Rodney realized out loud. "I was going to bring mistletoe and I forgot."

John blinked at him and screwed up his face. "Did you hit your head?" he asked.

"No! Wow, this is just completely not going the way it was supposed to," Rodney said. "Can I come in?"

"No."

"All right, look, the general consensus is that I'm a dumbass, but I'm a very sorry dumbass and we're driving everyone else crazy and we're driving ourselves crazy, and Merry Christmas, I'm sorry I didn't help you decorate your room this year, and wow, I left the blankets in the jumper bay, too, but I have a bow and I got this for you when we were on Earth and I saw it and Cadman says it's ugly and I guess it sort of is, but I thought you could put it on the tree this year, except that you don't have one."

John stared at him, arms crossed, eyes so narrowed they were almost closed. "Come in," he said abruptly.

He moved aside and the door opened. Rodney was almost surprised to find the place as bare as Radek had shown him, and the expected pile of presents stacked on the desk. He reached for John with his one free hand, sliding it over the warm skin at the back of John's neck and pulling him in for a kiss. "I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing his mouth against John's. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

John resisted for about half a second, and then his mouth opened under Rodney's and he asked, "Why, why, what are you even talking about?"

Rodney tried to answer but John was kissing him back, and pulling the bow and the gift from his hand and dropping them on the floor, and steering him back toward the bed.

"Thank God you finally got your head out of your ass," John said, pushing Rodney back on the mattress.

"You could have said something," Rodney snapped, pulling John's shirt over his head.

"I was trying," John replied, wrestling his boots off and crawling up the bed over Rodney.

"Not hard enough," Rodney shot back. He got his hands on John's waistband and tugged until the buttons slipped their holes. 

John slipped his hand behind Rodney's neck and dropped his mouth down, swallowing the next three dozen words Rodney had stored up for him.

Annoyed at being stifled, Rodney flipped him, straddling John's hips, and undid his own pants as they kissed. He had every good intention of going down on John because really, he had been an ass that week, but he didn't make it past the shallow dip of John's collarbone. John made a noise and Rodney found himself right back where he started, stealing all the breath and sound from John's mouth.

He managed to wrestle their clothes far enough apart that he could touch John, slide his hand right inside John's pants and around John's cock, warmth and weight exhilaratingly familiar in his hand. John rolled them this time, careful and more graceful, and he moved his hips against Rodney fluidly. His mouth slid down over the stubble on Rodney's jaw, tongue slipping out to trace the pulse in his neck, and then John made to scoot further down, a move that would slide him right out of Rodney's grip. 

Rodney wasn't about to put up with that, even with the implied benefits so he murmured, "No, no," and caught the side of John's face in his free hand, coaxing him back even.

John gazed down at him, eyes dark and dilated, and levered himself up on his fists. Rodney tugged his pants down, dragging them almost to his knees, and then John set up the angle just right, just like he used to, and all Rodney could do was thrust back and touch John's chest and come. 

"Rodney," John said a few seconds later, his voice soft and full of wonder. He groaned and dropped his head and Rodney felt him come, the muscles in his shoulders working under the skin.

John crashed to his elbows, his face coming down hot against Rodney's, and his body, from the chest down, pressed sticky-sweet against Rodney's skin.

"Oh, wow," Rodney said dazedly to the ceiling. "Wow, wow, wow."

John lifted his head a little, brushing dry lips and moist breath over Rodney's cheek. Rodney lifted one hand and slipped his fingers into John's damp hair, pushing it back from his face. He was quiet while John explored the shape of his face but he couldn't close his eyes. 

"I sort of meant for that to last longer," John finally murmured, sliding over Rodney's mouth. 

"It's makeup sex," Rodney said back, trying not to move his mouth and dislodge John. "We can do better in an hour or so." The soft shift of John's mouth across his skin should have been enough, but Rodney'd had a rough night. "This is makeup sex, right?" he asked.

"We have a lot of making up to do," John said, licking at Rodney's lower lip. "It's like, preliminary makeup sex. Then we can have first round makeup sex, and second round makeup sex, and third round, and bonus round, and maybe a post-game show...." He caught Rodney's lower lip in his teeth and pulled gently, using his tongue to soothe the nip. "Hey." John lifted his head and Rodney was half an inch from yanking him back down when he said, "Did you bring me a present?"

"It is Christmas, after all," Rodney said, trying to sound as offended as possible. The note of 'giddy' in his voice spoiled the effect.

"I didn't know you had it in you, McKay." John pressed a quick, hard kiss to Rodney's mouth, and levered himself off the bed, kicking off the tangle of pants and boxers at his knees. He stepped out of them, and recovered the gift, turning it in his hands as he nudged Rodney over and settled back on the bed. Rodney flopped to his stomach and rolled another quarter turn to his side and gave up no more mattress.

"Open it," he said, excitement rising. It wasn't a very good present and in fact, at the time, it was sort of a crappy one. But it had sat under his bed for months and it might be there still if it wasn't for a crazy dream and giant kick in the ass.

Warm eyes slid over him as John dismantled the wrapping. "I know you didn't wrap this," he said conversationally. "Don't go thinking that I forgot the Tape Incident of Last Year."

"Oh, stop trying to be an adult and open it already," Rodney snapped.

John grinned and tore the paper, tossing it back on the floor. He turned the box, studied the picture on the side, and then opened the top and pulled out the ornament.

"I know it kind of sucks," Rodney said. "It wasn't supposed to be your only present or anything but I saw it when we were back on Earth and I figured you could put it on that homely tree of yours."

John looked up automatically, the star blinking multi-colored in the warmth of his hand. The tree that had sat at the foot of the bed and tripped up Rodney every morning wasn't there. No tree, in fact, was evident at all.

"I sort of forgot the tree this year," John said, his eyes going back to the star, its LEDs spiraling wildly.

"I sorta forgot to come help you put it up," Rodney said. "We can fix that later."

John smiled and, still holding the star, dropped his head back and reached up to guide Rodney's mouth down on his. "Merry Christmas, Rodney," he murmured into the kiss. 

"God bless us, every one" Rodney added and then, realizing what he'd said, added quickly, "If you believe in a higher power dictating the eventual fate of the universe -- not that I do, but I had this dream...."

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This story is as much [](http://reccea.livejournal.com/profile)[**reccea**](http://reccea.livejournal.com/) 's fault as mine. She's the only reason I didn't give up on it a week ago and the best lines came from her. I was a complete brat during the beta and she didn't kill me. [Dr. Safir](http://www.livejournal.com/users/miss_porcupine/103693.html) belongs to [](http://miss-porcupine.livejournal.com/profile)[**miss_porcupine**](http://miss-porcupine.livejournal.com/) and Elizabeth's pet project was also her idea.


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